How Do You Like Your Eames?
by ThePointGirl
Summary: Eames gained muscle for a job, and Ariadne finds she likes it more than she should given her size. But then she comes across some photos of a young Eames, and finds herself conflicted in what she prefers...


**Title: **How Do You Like Your Eames?

**Notes: **Went differently from how I planned but nevermind. Review if you like it :)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own, just playing

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><p>Ariadne was sat at the table, lounging in a chair, eating popcorn from the bowl in her hand. She was staring at the maze in front of her, not paying much attention to the surroundings. She could hear Cobb and Eames' voices carrying through the warehouse. She looked up briefly and said hi to the pair of them. Ariadne had to do a double take as they walked in.<p>

The forger made Ariadne forget about the popcorn that she was holding only half way to her mouth. There was only one way to describe what he currently looked like. Eames was huge. Now, the man was bulky anyway with a rugby boy's physique, but now he was seriously ripped. The soft grey NY t-shirt he wore was tight over his chest, and his arms were solid, his tattoos poking out from under the sleeves. His forearms were taught so you could see a predominant vein. He wasn't just bulky, he was hot with it as well. Most men who bulk up look ridiculous, but not Eames. His classic profile face was still chiselled, almost marble-like. He was just so much heftier, and Ariadne popped the popcorn in her mouth to stop looking like a complete weirdo. Cobb looked smaller compared to him, it was all quite intriguing. Ariadne blinked at both men now standing next to her desk.

'In the red corner we have Daniel Eames… Eames, what is… what happened?' her voice cracked, but she wasn't worried or nervous. On the contrary...

'Well, you know I told you about that job we had? Well I had to forge an ex marine and wrestler, and it appears that it is harder to forge body types that required physical enhancement. Female bodies are easy, ex marines less so' Eames crossed his arms across his chest.

'For once I am actually intimidated by Eames' Cobb shifted, and Eames smirked between the pair of them.

'So Miss Ariadne, what do you think?' Eames trained his eyes on Ariadne and she mentally stuttered. She felt so much smaller than usual and it scared her. However there was a thing – you know that part which your parents will never know about – in the back of her mind telling her that _yes Ariadne, you do like it._

She hadn't seen Eames for months because he'd been away doing jobs, travelling etc, and she had papers that she couldn't miss. Cobb had called her, asking if she was interested in a job and she had accepted. It turned out they could use another hand in and also a forger, so Cobb picked up Eames. Thinking about it, Cobb did have a tiny grin on his face when he said he was picking the forger up. Ariadne had become more and more attracted to Eames the more time they spent together. And right now…

'Yeah. Looks… good. How was the job? Isn't this a bit like method acting?' she waved the hand holding popcorn in Eames direction.

'It was fine, no hiccups. I suppose you could say that it is method acting of a sort. I've got to say I felt very clumsy to start with' There was a glint in his eyes, something feral, and something Ariadne couldn't trust. She had felt her pupils dilate ever so slightly when she laid eyes on him. It was Eames' confidence, a dark confidence that made her look down at the maze and sketches to avoid embarrassment. His whole face looked darker, rougher, and meaner.

The job was completed successfully within the time scale of just over three weeks, and Ariadne went back to sit a final paper before Miles began asking questions again. One evening she came back to her place in Paris after being out with friends, and her heart stopped when she noticed Eames sitting at her desk. The apartment was darkened, and she could only just see it was Eames, his hands draped over the armrests.

'Fuck… Eames' you scared the life out of me!' she swore.

'So sorry sweetheart, you did give me a key'

'Yes, but I meant drop in when you've told me in advance. I mean, coming home to find a muscled, strange man, sitting at your desk is something your mother warns you against. Well, mine did' she said, walking around her apartment, taking off her jacket and placing her hands on her hips in front of him. Ariadne looked into his eyes.

'So, is it the fact that _I've_ dropped in unannounced, or that I've become bigger in size and that scares you?' he asked pushing up from the chair, and walking towards her. Her throat dried up, and her heartbeat increased.

He was still Eames, still so English with enough charm and cunning to outrun three mob leaders at one stage. He was still that man that was, at heart, a romantic. But right now, none of that mattered, because he was getting nearer and nearer to her and the lick of his lips made her gulp. _God she wanted him._ How could she not, she could feel her arousal spark, and _oh god _she was in trouble. She hadn't seen him in months. She couldn't reply to his question, as she had no real answer. Although judging by his expression – the leer – he knew anyway. Ariadne's feet backed her up, until she hit the wall, her hands on the cool plaster.

'Eames?' she asked, he touched the wall space above Ariadne's head, and he was so close she could feel the heat from his body.

'What's wrong, Ariadne?' he asked, and if she didn't know him better she may have fallen for the innocent act. She smacked his stomach lightly in annoyance, but then flattened her palm against the muscle, distracted. She gulped. Eames chuckled, and she could feel it as well as hear it right by her ear. It was a mocking chuckle. The kind of laugh that sends alerts down your spine, and releases adrenaline. Ariadne moaned, a low sound at the back of her throat. 'I like being this size if this is what I can do to you' he growled, one hand sliding down her side, stopping at her waist and gripping her. _Jesus._ He could fit a palm along a section of her waist. Her shallow breathing and the soft – almost subconscious – grind of her hips ended when he pressed her into the wall and away from his body.

'Eames'

'You're beautiful like this'

'And you have a power complex' she shot back, breathing licking her lips. He stared at her his face showing his want; then he grinned.

'Not usually no. You seem to be an exception to that, my girl' the hand that was on the wall snaked down and entangled in her hair. Back was the feral smile, and he yanked on her hair, watching her for any real harm. Ariadne gasped lips parting, and her hands feeling the tendons of his upper arms jump. She was certain that she had never wanted someone so much in her life. It wasn't just the physical change, but just Eames in general, everything about him.

'Fuck it' she heard him mutter before he crashed his lips down onto hers, the kiss fast and hard.

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><p>'Eames!' Ariadne yelled, and she waited.<p>

'Yeah?' came the delayed response.

'Can you come in here for a second?' she asked, frowning at the wardrobe, it being the reason why she needed Eames' help. A suspicious muttering that sounded like _you sound like my mother _was heard along with footsteps before Eames appeared at the doorway.

'What's up?' he asked, one hand tapping the doorframe.

'What's in here? Anything you need or want to get rid of?' she asked, gesturing toward the white polish painted wardrobe that stood precariously in the room.

'Hum. Just a load of old junk probably, if you could get it out and call me when you're ready that would be very helpful' and it flashed a smile and moved from the door, she heard his feet patter along the corridor.

They were clearing out his London flat – one of them – and Ariadne had laughed to the point of an achy stomach when it dawned on him how much stuff he owned. The furniture ranged from boutique expensive, to IKEA and the books, oh the books. She had known a Literature student who wouldn't mind having copies of Keats and Dostoyevsky. They were on their second day of clearing and selling, the end goal being Eames selling the flat and buying another one.

Ariadne opened the wardrobe with a few tugs on the handle; she half expected dust to fly out, but none did. No dramatic affects what so ever. Instead, she found herself staring at five big brown cardboard boxes. She rolled her eyes. She bent down and lifted the top one up, she stumbled backwards and let it drop onto the bed which was a good few feet away. She did so with the next four. Ariadne looked at the boxes, clicking her tongue and pondering.

To call for Eames, or not call for Eames, that is the question?

Not call for Eames. Ariadne propped herself on the bed that bounced under her weight with a squeak of springs as it had done so when she put the boxes on it. Ariadne opened each box. The first containing files, payments from years ago, a warning notice, and various police caution slips. The next three contained random objects Eames seemed to have acquired over his lifetime, and one even had a plate set with a card from 'Aunt June' on the top. Ariadne smirked: a house warming present he didn't want.

The last box was where Ariadne hit the jackpot. The last box held notebooks, papers, what looked like school reports, there were masses of stuff. Ariadne picked up the notebook on the top and eyed the drawings, and words.

Ariadne laid it next to her, looking into the box with more curiosity. She found, what looked like a heavily defaced yearbook. Eames, having told her little to nothing about his high school years, had not mentioned his form group. So Ariadne went through every page, scanning every picture. One boy looked a bit like Eames, but wasn't. She came to the photo and was not sure what she _did _expect, but what she got was not that.

Eames' light brown hair was tinted blond was fluffy, and framed his face in locks with a fringe. His skin looked so soft free of the stubble she loved, and the school photo didn't do him justice. His eyes were glazed with mischief and the quirk of his lips made a promise to the photographer. _Lucky photographer, _she thought sighing_. _He had a juvenile record – which didn't surprise her in the least – however when she saw his short hair with a slight quiff, and toned teen arms free of inky tattoos, she couldn't believe it. He was so innocent, looks do lie, and so free of depression. He looked precisely like the kind of boy she would have had a crush on when she was at school. The boy that sat at the back of the class and joked but got good grades and the one who was popular outside of school. His plump lips were stark cherry red, against his lightly tanned skin. He was gorgeous. None of the other boys even matched up to him, there was something so carefree, soft and dreamy about him.

She found a second photo, this one taken from a very different perspective. It was Eames around the age of nineteen or so smoking a cigarette, his head was bowed with two fingers just touching his lips around the cigarette to pull it out. The long lashes made dark half-moon shadows on his cheeks. The photo was black and white, and was taken from an artistic point of view. The background was of a mailbox and a moving car that was blurred. The grungy, harder look of him was more reminiscent of the Eames today. The photo showed his loss of innocence, and his slow tread into the gambling, alcohol near dependant bad boy he became.

Another was much recent, and Eames was in a suit reading a book with a slight frown on his face. He was leaning on an old series Ford, one hand on the bodywork, the other holding the book. The colour photo emphasised the red handkerchief in his blazer pocket, and his dark stubble on his jaw. He looked so relaxed and absorbed, but so handsome and grown up. Ariadne turned over the photo and raised her eyebrows. It read A Study in Eames by Dominic Cobb.

Eames had gotten smaller as the months went on after his job, and Ariadne was slightly dissapointed. Eames had a great body anyway, and he was great in bed, but it was the power thing that got her. When he pinned her to the bed and fucked her, the added strength in his body made her whimper. But looking at the photo of him as a young boy, he was the kind of boy you wanted to lose your virginity to. The cheeky, poetry reading teen who knew how to work women and men by a look at the age of sixteen.

'Ariadne, you okay in here you went all quiet on me?' Ariadne jumped putting the photo back in the box, seeing Eames standing again at the doorway. 'I figured it must have been all my old school junk. Stocking up on blackmail are you?' Eames asked, walking to the bed and peering into the box.

'No, just gathering intelligence. You weren't a very _good_ boy were you?'

'Oh god no, haven't you learnt that by now? I'm getting rid of all this, shredding most of it with Eliot at the depot'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, I'm not that nostalgic, I've got a good enough memory' Eames kissed the top of her head. 'Come on, dinner calls'

Eames didn't know that Ariadne the three photos and kept them. To remind her of an Eames she never knew, but wish to God she did. She might ask Eames to forge that sixteen year old for her one day.


End file.
